Mourning
by gracefulfallen
Summary: For Goldenlake's SMACKDOWN. “It’s tradition, Mindelan. We drink mead to honor the fallen.”


Title: Mourning  
Rating: PG for some mild swearing  
Length: 970  
Competitor: Alanna  
Round/Fight: 1/H  
Summary: This is part 2 of a 3 story arc I'm writing to help myself process the death of a friend. The first is entitled _Grief_ and the third _Recovery. _Warnings for Character death. This one is more melancholy that _Grief_ was - it's sad, but funny in places. Warnings of mild femmeslash, if you squint.

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Written for Goldenlake's SMACKDOWN. Check it out – link's in my profile.

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Kel had never thought that laughter would be so prevalent at a funeral. When she said as much to Alanna, the older woman smiled wryly and turned back to the bonfire crackling at the center of New Hope.

"It's not a funeral at this point, Mindelan. That was earlier in the day." A familiar male voice made Kel turn, and she bowed a respectful greeting to Lord Wyldon. His balding head gleamed in the firelight and he handed a glass to her and Alanna. Kel sniffed and shook her head politely, but Wyldon was shaking his back at her. "It's tradition, Mindelan. We drink mead to honor the fallen."

They were silent for a while, watching the mourners and listening to bits of stories that floated to them. A few made Kel smile and she wondered at that. Was this a betrayal of Neal? As if reading her mind, Alanna took her hand and squeezed it, her calluses rough against Kel's own. "He wouldn't resent you a smile, Kel."

A firm, hardened hand dropped heavily on her shoulder and she looked up in surprise as Lord Wyldon gazed intently into her eyes. "No, he wouldn't, nor would he blame you for what happened."

Kel swallowed hard and looked forward again at the bonfire. After a moment Lord Wyldon removed his hand; Lady Alanna did not. Kel threaded her fingers through the other woman's. Though she wasn't sure she knew how to express it she was glad at the human contact. It kept her from sliding back into the dark places she had been.

As if she could read her mind, Alanna squeezed Kel's hand once again and ran her thumb over Kel's knuckles gently. Without looking at any of them, Alanna spoke. "I thought that boy would be the death of me, but her certainly kept me sharp."

She smirked at the fire and shook her head, her graying copper hair falling over her shoulders. "It became a game, a duel between the two of us. We wanted to see who could keep the other off balance. There was real competitiveness at first, but after a while it just became fun." She cackled, and Kel couldn't help but smile again. "I made him study sniffles for three whole months, just to see how he reacted."

There was laughter, and Kel was startled to realize it was her own. She could feel Lord Wyldon look at her, but her focus was on Alanna. "He told us about that. I don't believe he ever realized that was you being mischievous."

"Sir Meathead could be dense at times." The drawling, slightly slurred tone came from behind them and they turned to see Merric strolling up, a pitcher of mead offered to them. Wyldon and Alanna accepted refills. Kel realized with a shock that hers was empty, and offered her glass apprehensively. Merric filled it without question, and continued his statement. "His cousin, Dom, is a sergeant in the Own. He nicknamed him that."

Wyldon choked as he tried to smother his laugh in his glass of mead, and Alanna, Kel and Merric all gaped at him. When it was clear Wyldon was ignoring their glances, Merric continued. "He certainly was thick-headed about some things. Love, loyalty, and honor." Merric gulped his drink, eyes unfocused. "All faults that made me proud to be his friend."

Wyldon was shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. "He was the only lad…" He glanced at Kel before correcting himself, "only _page_ to ever stand up to me. It infuriated me, but I was quite proud of him." He smiled, his eyes far away. " Despite the nickname he stuck me with, I'm quite glad I never managed to break him of that habit."

"I'm not." Alanna muttered into her drink and they were all surprised by the warm chuckle from Wyldon.

Kel tried to remember if she had ever heard him laugh, then gave up. Her head was swimming from the mead and she felt loose and a little out of control. Somehow it fit the night and occasion, and she leaned against Alanna, their sides pressed together in the darkness. After a moment, Alanna let go of Kel's hand, entwined their arms and picked Kel's hand back up, her thumb tickling Kel's palm.

They all watched the bonfire, listening again. There was a story of the time Neal had calmed a young orphan enough to let him examine her, or the time he had ridden into the heart of a battle to drag three young wounded soldiers out of the muck and into safety. There were whispers of his part in the incursion behind enemy lines, and of course of the time he had saved the Wildmage from an arrow through her wing.

It was all so noble, and Kel couldn't help it. She laughed. Not the dry chuckle from the past week, but a deep, heart felt, gut aching laugh. She felt the others turn to her and she ignored them until she could wipe her eyes and speak. Instead, she merely hummed a tune she hadn't heard since she was a page, and Merric burst into laughter as well.

Wyldon and Alanna stared at each other mystified, but the two year-mates refused to speak. Wyldon shook his head. "I imagine this is something I do not wish to know. On that note, I shall retire. It is getting quite late."

Merric, still smirking at Kel, waved a drunken goodbye and sauntered into a pack of the soldiers he was friendly with, still humming the sappy love ballad. Alanna looked up at Kel, noting the far off look in her eyes and guided her back towards her quarters, the echoes of stories bouncing back to them from the sides of buildings.


End file.
